


What Will You Fall For?

by Sohotthateveryonedied



Series: Whumptober 2020 [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Brotherly Angst, Damian Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Gen, Gun Violence, Gunshot Wounds, Hostage Situations, Hurt/Comfort, Prompt: "Pick Who Dies", Protective Bruce Wayne, Protective Tim Drake, Sort Of, Whumptober 2020, i don't kill off characters because fuck you, not really - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:13:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26780455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sohotthateveryonedied/pseuds/Sohotthateveryonedied
Summary: “Either you choose, or I make the decision for you and they both die.” The man lowers his pistol to point at Damian’s temple. The boy looks more offended than scared, given that he’s stuck next to Tim with a gun being waved in his face as if he doesn’t deal with this every night. But they aren’t vigilantes right now. They are Bruce Wayne and his sons.
Relationships: Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne
Series: Whumptober 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948297
Comments: 29
Kudos: 599





	What Will You Fall For?

**Author's Note:**

> Whump Day 2: "Pick Who Dies"
> 
> Tbh I give this fic a 6/10 on the Good Writing Scale and a solid 2/10 on the Actually Knowing What The Fucking Context Is Scale. (AKA this thing was very rushed because I have so much stuff to do this weekend and wanted to get this out of the way first.) Enjoy!

“Choose.”   
  
“Put the gun down.”   
  
_ “Choose.” _   
  
“Please. You don’t have to do this.”   
  
The man’s grip on the gun tightens. Bruce doesn’t recognize him, didn’t recognize his face when he first burst into Bruce’s office. Wayne security must not have been paying attention when he got into the building. Bruce barely looked up at first when the door to his office opened, too preoccupied with Damian and Tim arguing on the leather sofa, antsy for Bruce to drive them home.    
  
Bruce never anticipated that his day would end like this.   
  
“Either you choose, or I make the decision for you and they both die.” The man lowers his pistol to point at Damian’s temple. The boy looks more offended than scared, given that he’s stuck next to Tim with a gun being waved in his face as if he doesn’t deal with this every night. But they aren’t vigilantes right now. They are Bruce Wayne and his sons.   
  
“You and I can settle this ourselves,” Bruce says. He’s standing behind his large oak desk, not daring to move forward in case the bastard gets trigger happy. “If it’s money you want, I can get you some. I don’t care how much.”   
  
“You think I want your  _ money?”  _ The man turns, aims his shaking gun at Bruce. Bruce doesn’t mind, as long as it’s not pointing at his boys. “It was  _ your  _ job to clean up our city. That’s what you said. All of your programs, all your fundraising to fix up crime alley, you promised to  _ help _ Gotham. And then my son dies in a gang war, all because Bruce Wayne failed him.  _ You  _ failed him.”   
  
“I am sorry for your loss, truly. But this isn’t the solution.”   
  
“This is  _ justice.  _ If I have to lose my son, then so do you.” The man swivels again, his gun pointing right at Damian’s chest. Tim’s eyes widen and he looks desperately at Bruce, pleading for him to get them out of this.   
  
Damian, meanwhile, just scowls. “That’s right, cower behind your big gun. Why don’t you put down the weapon and fight me like a real man?”   
  
“Now would be a really good time for you to shut up,” Tim hisses.    
  
“No one asked for your opinion, Drake.”   
  
“He’s pointing a  _ gun  _ at your chest. I think I have pretty good reason to speak my mind right now.”   
  
“What, is someone scared of a little bullet?”   
  
“Why do you have to be such a  _ prick  _ all the time?”   
  
Bruce wants to tell them to stop, that now isn’t the time for their ceaseless bickering. He pressed the emergency button under his desk to signal their allies five minutes ago, so someone must be on their way to get them out of this. All they have to do is keep him talking until help arrives.   
  
Bruce already watched two people he loved get shot in front of him. He’s not about to witness it again. “It’s me you have a problem with, not them. They’re just kids. If you want to shoot someone who deserves it, then shoot me.”    
  
Bruce has enough bullet scars to play endless connect-the-dots. So long as the man has poor aim, Bruce is pretty sure he has a solid thirty percent chance of survival. He’s willing to take those odds.   
  
“Sorry, Mr. Wayne, but you don’t get off that easy. You  _ deserve _ to feel the pain I felt when my son died.” He pulls the hammer back, raising the gun to point between Damian’s eyes. “Your time is up. Pick who dies, or I’ll kill both of them.”   
  
“Bruce,” Tim says. His eyes are narrowed,  _ far _ too calm for this situation. He gulps when the gun twitches his way but doesn’t break. “It’s okay.”   
  
_ Nothing about this is okay. _ All of Bruce’s stashed gear and weapons are in the locked cabinet across the room. If he tries something now, it means a bullet through his ten-year-old’s brain matter.    
  
“He’s just a kid,” Tim agrees, as if reading Bruce’s thoughts. That’s when it finally sinks in what Tim is really talking about. “It’s okay. I won’t blame you.”   
  
“No.”   
  
“You have to choose one of us.”   
  
“I said  _ no.” _   
  
“You would rather lose another child?” He’s talking about Jason. That’s as low a blow as Tim knows how to give.   
  
“You’re my child too. I’m not losing either of you today.”   
  
Tim’s gaze is firm when he turns to face the man. “Shoot me.”   
  
_ “Tim,”  _ Bruce snaps.   
  
“It’s me or Damian, and I’m not letting him die. Do it,” he tells the man. “Kill me.”   
  
“This is ridiculous,” Damian spits. “Really, Father, this idiot probably couldn’t hit a target with two eyes and a—”   
  
The air cracks with a gunshot, followed by a grunt.   
  
Bruce’s entire body goes numb and for the second time in his life, he can’t think. His entire mind goes blank, like it’s been reset to its default settings. He can’t move. He can’t speak. He can’t  _ breathe. _ He scans Damian for the bullet hole, the blood, but he doesn’t find it and he  _ should _ be relieved.    
  
Why isn’t he relieved?   
  
Bruce’s eyes flick to his other son and his lungs feel like they’re being squeezed in a giant fist. Blood pours from a spot in Tim’s chest, staining his white shirt in red splotches.   
  
_ No.  _   
  
Bruce barely has time to move before suddenly a batarang crashes in through the window behind him. It sinks into the man’s shoulder, making him shout and drop the gun. That turns out to be the push Bruce’s brain needed because he lunges into action. He delivers a punch so hard it rattles his skeleton and sends the man sprawling on the floor.    
  
Nightwing swings in through the shattered window. “Sorry I’m late. Is everyone okay?”   
  
“Father,” Damian says, drawing Bruce’s attention. His small hands are pressed against the wound, trying to keep as much of Tim’s blood inside of his chest as possible. Blood slips between his fingers anyway with every wheezing breath Tim takes..   
  
“Get a medic,” Bruce orders Dick. He balls up his suit jacket and pushes away Damian’s hands, pressing the jacket to where the blood is pouring out. Tim’s face is contorted in pain, but he doesn’t make a sound. “Tim, are you with me?”   
  
“Is...is Damian okay?”   
  
“You shouldn’t have told him to shoot you. That was the  _ stupidest _ thing you could have done.”   
  
“What should I have done?”    
  
_ “Not  _ let him shoot you.”   
  
“Then it would be Damian instead. Is that—is that what you want?”   
  
Bruce doesn’t answer. It’s  _ not  _ what he wants. He wants all of his children safe and alive for as long as he can enforce it. What’s happening now, this isn’t fair. This isn’t justice.    
  
Tim coughs, wet and hacking. Blood stains his lips and chin.  _ Damn it. _ There’s blood in his lungs. He doesn’t have much time. “Stay with me, Tim. Dick’s already called the paramedics, they’ll be here soon.”   
  
“Y’shouldn’t...shouldn’t use names. Identities.”    
  
Bruce looks over to where Dick has already cuffed the shooter and is dragging him out of the room. The security guards must be running late, their second failure of the day. Bruce is going to have to do something about that.    
  
“It’s not your fault,” Tim says. At first Bruce assumes he’s talking to him, but then he sees that Tim’s glazed eyes are actually on Damian. Damian, who is doing his best to push down the emotion he feels. Damian, whose hands are covered in Tim’s blood.   
  
“I know. This is all your fault.”   
  
Tim laughs, but it’s weak. “You’re just a—just a kid. You h-haven’t lived yet.” Every breath is a wheeze, Tim’s chest jerking painfully under the pressure Bruce applies. It won’t be enough. Tim needs a hospital  _ now. _ “Hey, Bruce? Tell the others—”   
  
“No. You’re not dying.”   
  
“I might.” He’s too pale. How much blood has he lost?   
  
“You’re  _ not. _ I won’t let you. Now shut up and keep breathing.”   
  
Tim’s eyes droop. “S’always weird...seeing you scared.” He coughs again, weaker than before. More blood splatters on his lips.   
  
“Don’t die,” Damian tells him, gripping Tim’s hand tighter and sounding too much like the child he is. “I swear to god, if you die, I will go to Hell myself and drag you back. You’re too annoying to die. Got it?”   
  
The corner of Tim’s mouth lifts. “‘Kay,” he whispers. “I’ll do it for you.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Feel free to mosey on down to my Tumblr!](http://sohotthateveryonedied.tumblr.com/)


End file.
